“And these are the men who take the word out of our mouths! Did he come of his own accord, or was he set on to it by Miss Bulpit?” was the vicar’s reflection, as he stood watching the farmer’s retreating figure from the window. “It is more than I can bear; some steps must be taken. It’s high time for Harness to interfere; it’s too bad of him if he refuses.”
Mr. Langrove took up his hat, and went straight to the Court.
“Depend upon it,” said Sir Simon when the clergymen had related the recent interview—“depend upon it, Griggs is too shy a chap to have done it on his own hook; take my word for it, there is a woman at the bottom of it.”
“That is just what makes it so serious. Griggs is a poor, ignorant, conceited fellow that one can’t feel very angry with; one is more inclined to laugh at him and pity him. But it is altogether unpardonable in such a person as Miss Bulpit; it’s her being at the bottom of it that makes the case hard on me.”
Sir Simon agreed that it was.
“Then what do you advise me to do? What steps are you prepared to take?” asked Mr. Langrove.
“My advice is that we leave her alone,” replied Sir Simon. “We’re none of us a match for womankind. She circumvented me about that bit of ground for the Methodist chapel. She’s too many guns for both of us together, Langrove; if you get into a quarrel with the old lady, she’ll raise the parish against you with port wine and flannel shirts, and you’ll go to the wall. After all, why need you worry about it! Let her have her say. They love to hear themselves talk, women do; you can’t change them, and you wouldn’t if you could. Come, now, Langrove, you know you wouldn’t. Halloo! here’s something to look at!” And he started from his semi-recumbent attitude in the luxurious arm-chair, and went to the open window. It was a charming sight that met them. Two riders, a lady and a gentleman, were cantering over the sward on two magnificent horses, a bay and a black.
“Is that Franceline?” exclaimed Mr. Langrove, forgetting, in his surprise and admiration, the annoyance of having his grievance pooh-poohed so unconcernedly.
“Yes. How capitally the little thing holds herself! She only had three lessons, and she sits in her saddle as if it were a chair. Let’s come out and have a look at them!”
They stepped on the terrace. But Clide and Franceline were lost to view for a few minutes in the avenue; presently they emerged from the trees and came cantering up the lawn, Franceline’s laugh sounding as merry as a hunting-horn through the park.